The Light Beckons
by Signmalion
Summary: Blood Elves, once the strongest race on Azeroth. Now only reduced to mere survivors. One of these survivors has fallen in battle on the plains of Kalimdor. Zimbron should find comfort that he no longer deals with problems of the living. A brave, and noble champion of the light, has been forever torn from his heritage. For the once glorious paladin, is now an unholy Death Knight.


(This is only the very beginning introduction, it establishes some small minor details. Actual chapters will be much longer and will hopefully come out at least once a month. I'm very excited for this fanfiction, and I hope this little teaser is enough for you to want to read it as much as I want to write it. Thank you, updates coming soon.)

Laying there dying, I could only hope one thing. I prayed that the forsaken did not get to me before the wild animals did. I was far from home; Kalimdor was a ways away from the Woods. I didn't know how my remains would get back to Silvermoon. I wasn't even sure where they would go. Would they go back to Orgrimmar? Maybe. I had no doubt that Thrall, or even Cairne would see to it that I had a proper burial. I didn't especially want thrall to do it, as he might try to revive me with his Shaman abilities. No, I wanted an honorable death after all the dishonor our people had caused. Cairne would most likely burn my remains, those Tauren are very attached to nature.

My people never really cared for nature. Sure, nature was pretty to look at. However we had more important things to do, rather than stand around and stare at stupid plants, or vast oceans. No, we much preferred to twist and contort nature into a little device we drew our every power from. Draining it slowly, we became dependent on it. We needed it to function. The power it provided was far greater than any other, the power of the Sunwell.

No good thing lasts forever, and thus, when my people had just risen from the ashes; we were thrown into the darkness again. The scourge, unbeknownst to us, had marched their way towards the Sunwell. Arthas Menethil, that bastard, led the unholy march himself. Once a true image of justness, reduced to a mere puppet by that damned sword of his. We Blood Elves admired nothing about him, he was a traitor. He alone is responsible for the purging of Stratholme. He mercilessly slaughtered hundreds of citizens, and for that he can never be forgiven.

In a matter of hours, the power we once became so attached to had vanished. Our leader, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider took to a new world. Known once as Draenor, Outlands was a wretched planet. Fel magic tainted its very essence, corrupting even the purest of life. Prince Kael'thas promised to bring us back a great source of power. I didn't think I'd die, before our Prince returned to lead us to the Promised Land.

It was peaceful, death that is. It was never as I had imagined. Alone in the darkness, I bore the weight of all my wrong doings. A thousand heavy chains cast upon me. As I began to give up all hope, a lone voice came calling to me from somewhere out of my reach. "Release yourself, my child. There is no more need to fear. Your time in the living realm has come to a close, rest easy now child." It called to me. Her voice was entrancing. Enticing me to leave behind my mortal sins and join her in the spirit realm. Her voice beckoned me closer, and with each step I felt myself grow a thousand pounds lighter. I closed my eyes, and heard her speak again. "Open your eyes my child. Now is the time for peace." She opened her arms, and silently gestured me forward towards her. As I cautiously took my steps, I suddenly became aware that I was free of weight. Gravity had its hold on me no longer, and I slowly ascended closer to her.

She was there, clearly ethereal, but there. I stretched my arm out and softly put my hand on her shoulder. As I made physical contact with her, I could finally see her in detail. Her skin was a soft blue, almost Night Elven. However I knew she was no race I had ever laid eyes on. Her clothes were tattered, shredded down to nothing but mere strips of white cloth covering her pelvis and upper torso. She wore a pure white hood; it swung low on her face, covering her eyes. She levitated a few feet off the ground, as if a way point to guide lost spirits. Spirits swirled and danced around her as she slowly bobbed up and down. From either side of her sprung two majestic angel wings. Her wings sifted from blue to white, and then to blue again. As if undecided on which color was more holy. Although I could not see her eyes, I could feel them. Her stare was light on me, and offered renewed hope. I slowly pushed myself until both my arms were wrapped tightly around her. She slowly brought her hands up to caress my broken soul, and when they had made contact, she brought her wings in closer towards us. Her wings fell over me, bathing me in a sense of euphoria. This was where I belonged, this was where I needed to be. "You have fought many battles son, but it is now finally over. You shall soon be with the ones you once loved. I promise to take you th-"

She was quickly interrupted by the sound of laughter. I turned around, and a pair of dark purple, jagged claws quickly grabbed my spirit, and yanked me out of the arms of Her. I accelerated to an alarming speed, and as I got faster, I got heavier. I heard the scream of a women below me, "Damn you Arthas! You are not allowed to meddle in the affairs of the dead! I do not care who you are. There will come a time, when you must face me for what you have done!" She bellowed with all her might, while still maintain a sense of calm. There was a dark laughter again.

"I look forward to it, Spirit Healer. Maybe if you learned how to keep a better hold on your dead, I wouldn't be so eager to steal them for my armies." The voice commanded. I could only assume the thundering voice was Arthas. "Now, Zimbron. Come to me, you have much work to do. You should feel honored to be risen as one of my most feared creations. Yes, indeed. I shall resurrect you, as a death knight."


End file.
